One Last Time, Blood For The Blood God

originally scrapped this but it’s still a little funny, so here. tag yourself im from the arts dep

wilbur's perspective on parenthood is rooted only in tallulah's emotional wellbeing, but that neglects her physical wellbeing. wilbur is similar to tallulah in that both of them are rather new to the world, and neither understand the atrocities that have already taken place. wilbur believes that he only needs to emotionally equip tallulah, and he can take care of the rest. he frequently tells her how much he loves her, he sings to her, he goes the extra mile to make sure she knows that he's proud of her. all of this is great and absolutely necessary, but wilbur is not giving her the final necessary thing in this world: physical protection. he doesn't understand that he won't always be there to protect her, even though he knows that he'll literally be away for long periods of time. he doesn't understand how easy it is for these eggs to break. he doesn't understand that people will kill her for the sake of killing her. and as a result, he doesn't feel the need to give her armor or weapons. wilbur thinks that he can protect her physical wellbeing because he'll always be there, but he's mistaken. at least if she dies, she'll do so knowing that she's loved. but she'll be dead anyway, and it'll be wilbur's fault.

Wilbur doesn't know why he knows the steps. It feels like a dance you remember only in a hazy state. Walking beside a small kid, careful not to trip into her stride feels right. He feels like something overtakes him to speak in a gentler voice of reassurance. To sing her a song goodnight is instinct, not just as a musician but as something else. It feels so strange all of a sudden that he of all people is so careful with a child he's never met until that day. When he heard he was possibly a dad, he simply dismissed it like minor news. Akin to hearing you have a spider in your home or it's raining in 4 days, he'll get to it but it's nothing really.

But now he cares so much, he'd wreak havoc if anything happened to Tallulah. It feels like deja vu, like looking through a mirror to another world. A world where he has a special place surrounded by redwood trees and by the riverside. That other guy he's looking at, he's building everything up just for his own kid, with the same face of care and concerns as his own. He's singing some lullabies as him, matching the cadences and lyrics even if hushed and mumbled. He's teaching how to shoot a bow and arrow to his kid just like him, explaining the steps the same as him. He's leaving the kid soon just like the other, but at least he's trusting someone else to take care in his stead.

There's another kid, he realises. And that kid looks sad, in spite of the beautiful scenery. That kid is looking at walls, just like Tallulah. He's not living in much comfort or glamour, just like Tallulah. He's learning how to fend for himself with a bow and arrow, Tallulah will be like that soon. He's seen the dance, the rhythm of a deadbeat. And now its up to him to change the paces.

Will doesn't know why he pauses in faint recollection when a memory doesn't exist. It's merely a dream from a bygone night, but what's a memory but not a dream you've seen before. Yet when remembers walking through the forest and a flash of red fur snickering, he doesn't understand why a pang of burrowing feelings hits him.

And that feeling turns to drive, a desire to be at least the best dad he can be for now. For Tallulah and for that lonely kid he doesn't remember.

What the red means

c!Dream is a tragic villain, not in the sense that he was molded into a terrible person by forces outside of his control, but in the way that every single decision he’s ever made has been the worst one possible. Like, he was respected, he had friends, he had so much going for him. But instead of being content, instead of quitting while he was ahead, he chose to be a child abusing mass murderer, and every step of the way you’re just left asking Why? Why would you throw away your life like this? How can you be this stupid? How don’t you hurt? And it’s awesome.

Death

When Russia mentions death there is an imperceptible flinch in the room. He does it causally. Why wouldn’t he? He has died so many times.

           America’s hand still flutters up, aimlessly, as though to touch an old scar, but there are too many. He is still young, and he moves unconsciously. His is the age of bullets, explosions, and distant violence. He knows well the pain of a gunshot. That doesn’t mean anything anymore. He knows what it is to become nothing at the touch of a button; the feeling of fire before the force of scientific progress strips flesh from bone. You still come back from nothing, when you’re not human. He always came back.

           England knows these things. He knows fire more intimately. After what feels like an eternity it stops hurting. The powerful belief of his people drove him back. You can come back from ash. He never felt like a phoenix.

           France knows defeat when bringing blade against blade. The piercing is symbolic; his heart beating itself to shreds as though he could really die when he never does. He falls to his knees, not animated by blood or a heartbeat. You recover from mortal wounds. He still fights as though he can die because others can.

           Spain, God knows, has drowned more times than he can remember. It burns when the water fills his lungs. Salt water is worse. You can still get back to shore, even if it takes hours. He doesn’t need to breath.

           Germany, Italy, and Japan died in that grand war. They did not make their pact to lose. They could have died and never come back, the stakes they gambled. The stroke of a pen can cease the driving force that brings you back and back and back… They knew death dearly enough to dare to risk their lives.

           China is older than all of them. He knows death in nearly every form. He almost knows rebirth. He could laugh at most of the stories the others tell; that though does not cross his mind. They may all argue but there is one thing they understand.

           Russia has mentioned death. There was an imperceptible flinch in the room. All of them thought of it, briefly, in flashes and moments without words, but none dwell. Why would they? They have all died so many times.  

“…believe me to be, my dear fellow, Very sincerely yours, Sherlock Holmes”

— The end of Holmes’ “suicide” note, The Final Problem

“Nuku, nuku, nurmilintu Väsy, väsy västäräkki. Nuku, kun mie nukutan, Väsy, kun mie väsytän.”

Breathe in, breathe out.

Sleep, Little Bird ~George deValier

Like yes we know cphil is cwilbur dad but. What if the cphil on the dsmp isn’t really cwilburs dad. Just that universe’s version of him. What if Phil is waiting for Wilbur, hoping he’ll come home. Wondering at first why he never came home from the shitty gas station. Was he kept late? Was he hurt somewhere? Did he crash his car? Did he get murdered and Phil would never see him again?

It kills Phil. His wife has been dead since Wilbur was born. He puts up fliers at first and coordinates the search effort. He keeps searching even as it peeters out and everyone thinks he’s crazy to continue. He can’t loose his baby boy. but after 2 years he knows it’s in vain.

Phil hopes he’s happy at least, wherever he is.

Until one day, when Wilbur shows up on his doorstep. A white streak in his hair, wearing a trench coat. He has new scars and wrinkles. His eyes are sad but his smile wide. His son is home. All is well. Phil hugs him and he cries and cries. Wilbur is confused, but hugs back. Wilbur will not tell him what happened in those two years no matter how hard he presses. Wilbur is colder, more distant. Phil doesn’t know why.

Wilbur goes back to work at the gas station.

someone: sherlock holmes is a machine, haven’t you read the books—

me, opening up my ornate copy of acd’s sherlock holmes, with its tender illustrations, pointing blindly to any line holmes says: he’s a sweet boy